


A Vision in Red

by jujubeans



Series: Swimming: small experiments on avoidance, by Sherlock Holmes. [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys In Love, Fluffy cuddling, Frogs - did she say frogs?, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Sherlock in Heels, Speedos as sex weapon!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4058371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubeans/pseuds/jujubeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's nearly Tuesday again, and time for John to drag Sherlock to his swimming lesson.  But somehow there's a different type of dragging involved...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Vision in Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).



> Again, for the wonderful, encouraging AtlinMerrick. A girl could just burst from all the stuff you say!
> 
>  
> 
> Readers, if you're not sure what Speedos are, they are very tight, brief-style lycra swimming trunks that have an interior drawstring, as opposed to shorts-style bathers. In Australia they're known colloquially as 'slug-huggers' or 'budgie-smugglers'.  
> It's not essential, but reading part one of this series, The Black Shorts of Sex, would enhance your enjoyment of this fic.

The morning sunlight lay across John’s nose and cheek like a slash of paint. The warmth prickled his skin until said doctor’s nose twitched. A hand arose to scratch, eyelids flickering open to espy long, tapered fingers tipped with blood red nails lying palm-down on the bed beside him.

John smiled and let his eyelids drift shut again, dredging up vivid vermilion images from last night. Itch soothed, the hand slid down, down over his chest, coming to rub lightly back and forth across his belly. Mmmm it was all coming back to him. He could still smell the visceral fuck-scent they’d produced, as if the heat was still vital between them now. John nuzzled his face into the pillow… Ooops! Scent in the air, no. Scent on the pillow – yes, very much so. The good doctor raised his head and drew out from under his cheek a pair of very, very _red_ , very, very _well used_ pair of Speedos. Flopping his head back to the pillow John swept his eyes down the luscious body lying in a state of dishabille beside him.

And what a magnificent body it was. Those elegant red-tipped fingers that poked out from beneath the sheet lay next to a face made angelic by sleep (John knew exactly just how devilish that face could be when conscious). Eyelashes gently resting against cheekbones any catwalk model would pay for. The mouth a glorious, pouty bow, still faintly stained with rouge paint. John took a deep breath to relax but he could already feel how just glancing at his lover was affecting his heretofore happily slumbering shaft.

Moving quietly and cautiously, still clutching the Speedos, John lifted away the sheet revealing the miles and miles of back and consulting arse beneath. _Oh how did that survive?!_ One perfect set of puckered lip prints in the same rouge lipstick lay like a brand on an otherwise exquisitely white nether cheek. John’s cock sprung to full attention. His eyes glazed over and his mind drifted back to last night and just how those lip prints got there…..

After the debacle of last Tuesday’s non-swimming lesson, dear reader, John had determinedly gone out and bought Sherlock a pair of regular old Speedos. In John’s mind, there wouldn’t be any way Sherlock could possibly derail his lesson with these in the way that he had last Tuesday. _Hmmm, last Tuesday…_ Finding himself standing in a bit of an hypnotic Homer stupor at the display rack as he recalled his encounter with The Black Shorts of Sex, John found himself zombie-shuffling toward the counter with a pair of Speedos in bright red.

Red was his favourite colour on Sherlock, well, when said items were a bit not normal, that is. Items such as heels. Or stockings. Or lacy panties. Or lipstick. Or nail varnish. Or items that would appear in their future sexcapades but that, for now, were just a body-thrilling anticipation. Very red items which Sherlock quite indulgently donned for John, loving nothing more than to see how he could make his beloved army captain’s cock rise to the vision of his sweetheart in sexy red things.

And seeing how he affected John made Sherlock… _feel things._ Sherlock had spent a lifetime pushing down and training away _feeling._ Facts and data were all that he needed to get through life in a semi-acceptable way. But now that John was here, now that wonderful, accepting John was here to be patient with him and show him how to let himself feel things again, and to keep him a bit in line (which he secretly thrilled to, just a smidgeon), life was infinitely more than just semi-acceptable. It was glorious.

So it was not too surprising that Sherlock’s plan to avoid Tuesday’s swimming lesson, which he had promised to attend without whining and in an appropriately attired manner, involved extraction from said lesson via other… _less directly confrontational methods._

In short, ‘early distraction’. John, as we have mentioned, was very partial to Sherlock in red so Sherlock purloined and trawled through various catalogues with the avid obsession of a devotee, pinpointing the _exact_ rouge lipstick that would drive John wild, the _precise_ blood-red nail varnish that would make John’s eyes bug. Such was Sherlock’s devotion to his task he found himself fervently fingering five inch fuck-me-they-can’t-be-legal velvet ankle-strap heels that even _he_ had trouble putting under the bed until the time was right.

Sherlock fully meant to honour his agreement with John and go to his lesson, it’s just that he hoped to distract John well enough that the lesson would go by without anyone remembering to mention it. He felt, given his tools, fairly confident he could achieve this, and if not, there was always the back-up plan he’d arranged with one of his homeless network…

So Monday evening saw Sherlock leave John at the kitchen table, plugging away at his two-fingered blogging while he quietly slunk down the hallway and shut himself in their room.

First step required a bit of dexterity and lube. Done. Next, he drew a chair up to his mirror and circled his mouth with the sticky gloss. Then his nails – in retrospect, probably should have done those earlier as they need a bit of time to dry… damn. A quick crack of the door to check on John: “ _Fuck!_ Bloody need to go do that typing course…” Excellent, he’d be backspacing for ages. Next the red stockings and over those the hopefully-never-to-be-swum-in Speedos John bought him. Pull drawstring tight and tie. And for the jewel in the crown – those heart-halting heels.

Needless to say Sherlock felt every single bit as sexy as he looked. This was evident in the way he channelled Naomi Campbell, sashaying down the hallway in a Red Blaze (yes, it required capitals, believe me) toward a sadly unsuspecting John, whose eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Twice.

Sherlock sidled up to his slack-gobbed captain, threw out one hip with a hand on it, leant forward from said hip into John’s panting space and… _pouted with extreme prejudice_. He gave it a nicely judged six seconds for maximum impact, then slung his hip in the other direction and nudged the table back a smidge. John’s hands thunked from the keyboard into his lap. Slinking forward Red Sherlock raised one obscenely shod foot and placed it on John’s upper thigh for another stunning moment then leant forward and placed his beautiful red-tipped fingers on his delicately strapped ankle and voluptuously dragged those fingers up his smooth stockinged leg, taking at least a whole minute to reach the zenith.

“Holy fuck, Sherlock!” John had found his voice. He pointed at Sherlock’s crotch. “Are those the…?”

Sherlock lowered his voice to his deepest rumble and pinned John with his gaze. “Yesss, John.”

“But they’re-“

“And I’m not whining, John. Not at all.”

Sherlock placed a long index finger on John’s lips and carefully let his foot slide down John’s side, bringing his other around so that he was straddling John’s hips and, linking his arms around his neck slowly sank down onto John’s lap.

Sherlock wiggled his bounteous arse. “Ooooh I like what I’m feeling, John”. He winked cheekily and leaning back slightly, staying linked with John’s gaze Sherlock ran one varnished hand down his chest, over his stomach and down into his Speedos. John’s eyes were drawn like a magnet. Sherlock milked the moment, swishing fingers around tantalisingly slowly before pulling out and twisting his hand to reveal one stick of rouge lip gloss. John’s eyeballs were glued to the stick. As the lid came off with a little _pop_ John startled and dragged his eyes up to his tasty little strawberry's face. The strawberry thrust out his chin and opened his mouth, making a little circular motion with one finger. John obediently opened his mouth and lent forward. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, reached out and leisurely dragged that gloss across John’s bottom lip. John moaned. Sherlock re-dipped the applicator and painted it over the crests and valleys of John’s top lip. He leaned back to inspect his work and smiled.

“You look perfect, John. I want to kiss your splendid red lips”, he whispered.

Now this was not the first time these boys had kissed with lipstick involved but it was the first time they had _both_ been sporting it.

Sherlock wiggled again for good measure and tilted forward to place his lips ever so gently against John’s. A mere whisper of sticky, sexy touch. Gloss met gloss and both boys groaned. Hypnotised, John barely had time to form a pucker before Sherlock was standing and backing off. As he watched silently, his naughty strawberry tart pretended to drop the lip gloss, made an ‘o’ of surprise with his sinful mouth, turned his back to John and bent from the hips stiff-legged to pick it up, giving John an eyeful of the best-filled Speedos on the face of the planet. And beyond. Far, far beyond.

Just as John was about to reach out to grab a handful of lusty arse Sherlock straightened up and casually wobbled his way toward the bedroom, throwing an audacious wink over his shoulder before rounding the doorway.

John sat stupefied for about four heartbeats before scrabbling to his feet and traveling Sherlockward like a homing pigeon.

Sherlock posed patiently in the room, congratulating himself on completely overwhelming John. With a bit of luck John would go all night and they’d oversleep in the morning. He looked up to find John lounging against the doorframe regarding him in a rather too back-in-control-of-himself manner.

Slightly startled at this, Sherlock faced the bed, spread his legs and bent forward whilst sliding his arms outward until his torso touched the bed, supporting his weight. With his head turned toward John he brought his hands around to his arse cheeks and gripped, then slowly slid them down the backs of his thighs. “Come touch me, John” he whispered in invitation.

John, having tasted fresh air in the hall, had every intention of doing just that but he wasn’t about to let Sherlock have all the control. Without budging he demanded, “Reach up and take down the Speedos, Sherlock. Expose that glorious arse for me, but only pull them down at the back.”

How quickly situations can change in the blink of an eye, dear reader.

Sherlock’s agenda demanded he lead this scenario but the delicious temptation to follow John’s order was too much for him. Dressed in all his fiery finery he felt feminine and fucking gorgeous and he just wanted to please John in whatever way John desired. He _wanted_ to be John’s beautiful bitch.

So he reached up and slipped the waistbands of the trunks and tights down to unveil his bottom, until the drawstring pulled tightly across the base of his cock. Feeling sexily laid bare to John’s gaze he reached right down to his ankles and trailed his fingers up his stocking clad legs. The height of the heels made a pretty shape out of Sherlock’s calves.

Pushing off the doorway John drifted across the room to place his hands over Sherlock’s. “How beautiful you are, Sherlock” he murmured. “You’re always the dreamiest man in the room, my naughty little crumpet, but tonight you are just… _delicious_.” He bent close to Sherlock’s rear. “Were I to blog this crime against my sanity I’d name it, ‘A Vision in Red’, my love” and pressed his rouged lips firmly to one cheek of that comely rear leaving perfect glossy lip prints.

“Oh god yes, John. Please.”

“I know, Sherlock.” John petted and gentled his shivering lover. He straightened and ran his palm over his detective’s rump- “Oh! What have we here?!”

John took a small step back and fingered Sherlock’s crease to discover the sparkling end of a red-jewelled butt plug. “Oh Sherlock. You are soooooo wicked. Have you made yourself ready for me, hmm?”

“Yes John,” the crumpet panted, “I’m very ready for you. Take it out, please. I want your hot length in me.”

“You’re in luck, Sherlock, ‘cause I’m going to bloody give it to you.” John watched Sherlock writhe as he stripped off his clothing. He licked his hand and palmed his heft as he reached forward with his other hand and delicately twisted free the plug. Sherlock’s hole glistened with plenty of lube. John touched a finger to the plug-stretched skin and swirled the tip around the inside passage. His own red lip prints nudged back toward him seeking _more_.

John lined himself up and pushed home. Two sets of tears nearly fell from the relief. It was impossible to say who needed the friction more.

“I’m going to fill you with my spunk, Sherlock. And you’re going to rub yourself, but only on the outside of the bathers, and don’t come yet.”

“Yes, John” Sherlock frantically nodded, “I won’t come until you say”.

Sherlock wedged a hand between himself and the bed and whimpered, rubbing as hard as he dared, while John settled in with a steady rhythm. As he fucked and ground his hips into his beloved’s hind quarters he ran his hands all over that expanse of back, and down those endless legs revelling in the beauty before him. John is a smart man. He could see that all that beauty wasn’t just physical. What he was witnessing was a man of pride and strength, who was willing to trust him enough to lead him to places of pleasure without fear of humiliation. John’s chest swelled with pride that it was _he_ of all people who Sherlock chose to be his companion.

He thrust faster. He wanted so badly to mark Sherlock as his own, his head nearly melted at the idea of placing his claim on his love. And it’s that thought that had him shattering outward, ever expanding, pouring himself into his mate marking him as his.

They both slumped, chests heaving.

“Sherlock, please get those bloody gorgeous shoes off, and take down those stockings but put the Speedos back on for me. Your cock looks amazing in them when it’s hard.” John held out a hand to his sweetie pulling him up, letting him lean on him while he ditched one shoe at a time.

Once everything was as he wanted, John tucked a hand under Sherlock’s hair to clasp his nape and drew him down for a gentle kiss. He climbed on the bed on his back and gestured for Sherlock to straddle his chest.

“Pull your cock and balls out over the waistband, love. Lean forward and hold the headboard. I want to… ungh yeth”. Unexpectedly John was the one to lisp as he got a face full of Sherlock.

“Oh John, it feels so good. John I love your mouth on me John” Sherlock babbled.

The good doctor was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and pardon the pun but that was pretty near the mark. John licked and sucked and nibbled and slurped his way around everything he could get that mouth on until Sherlock couldn’t stand it anymore and fed his cock deep into John’s throat.

John clutched at Sherlock’s arse and could feel his own dampness through the fabric of the Speedos. Suddenly he _had_ to feel his mark on his lover. “Sherlock!” he panted. “Quickly! Get the fucking drawstring undone. I need to touch you. I need to feel _us_ there, together”.

Sherlock tugged on the string and John ripped the waistband down as far as he could get it but his chest impeded the journey. “Hang on and lift one leg for me”. Sherlock huffed a laugh and cocked a leg up so John could stretch the togs all the way off until they hung around one knee. “Thank fuck. Now give me back your cock and tilt forward”.

Sherlock, not used to quite this level of bossiness from his little despot, felt rather overcome. He happily did as he was told and was rewarded with two fingers slipping right up deep where he needed them.

“Aaah yes yes yes yes yes, John. That is so very right just there Johnny. Oh!”

John moaned deep in his throat sending vibrations all along Sherlock’s length. Overcome and overwhelmed, Sherlock dropped one hand to cup John’s face and looked at him and cried, “I love you, John! Take everything... everything I’ve got to give” and you can bet that that great man lying underneath all that beauty going on above him heard and saw all that vulnerable, unconcealed rawness and did indeed take it all – every last drop. He took it all inside and wrapped it up in his own heart and swore he’d protect it with his life, if it came to it again.

Now, my little voyeurs, I must drag you back to the present, to early Tuesday morning, where John, cock in shuttling hand, last night’s Speedos clutched in the other, eyes squinched shut, is still lost in memory, whispering fervently, _“I love you, too, Sherlock”_.

Unexpectedly John feels an extra hand in his crotch. His eyes spring open to find Sherlock lazily gazing at him through slitted lids. Sherlock, seeing the Speedos still very much in evidence, mentally shrugs and decides to go with Plan B.

He cocks one eyebrow at his cutie, “Oh Johnnnn…” he teases as he tugs the Speedos languidly from John’s grasp. “What fun we had with these. Are you looking forward to seeing me in them again today?” Outrageously, Sherlock drapes them over his face and inhales deeply. “Mmmm. I can smell us both, John. I think I might need some encouragement for my lesson, John. A bit of incentive to attend, hmm?”

John watches as Sherlock smirks and rolls onto his back. Pink fills his cheeks as he sees the perfect ring of lipstick around the base of Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock notices and chuckles deep in his chest. “I’ve never come so hard, John. You were perfect”. He busses John’s nose with a kiss.

Moved, John rolls his sweetie over again until he’s on his side facing so that John can spoon him. He runs a hand up and over Sherlock’s chest, pressing his palm firmly over his heart. They fuck leisurely in the morning sunlight, tending to each other in ways only two people deeply in love can do.

Afterward they shower lazily together, kissing and laughing, then get ready for the walk across town to the leisure centre.

Sherlock starts to feel uncomfortable with what he’s done. John was so wild for him last night, and so sweet this morning. He really should make a call to stop Plan B. The least he can do for his cutie is take the damn lesson. Torn and undecided, the closer they get to their destination the more fidgety Sherlock becomes.

John starts to smell a rat. “Sherlock?”

“Hmmm?” No direct eye contact. Ratty smell getting stronger.

“Did you bring your Speedos, my little dumpling?”

“Yes, John,” he says meekly, pulling them out of his pocket and dangling the evidence from one long finger.

Hmmm. “Do you have anything you need to tell me, my tasty cake?”

“Umm… well-“

Just then they arrive at the centre. Shrill voices emerge from inside. As they’re about to step up to pay a small boy runs gleefully under the turnstile, chasing after something moving so quickly it’s just a green streak.

“What on earth’s happening here?!” John laughed, looking up at Sherlock. His laughter died a slow death.

Sherlock, if possible, looked greener than the streaking thing. He held his hands palm out toward John in the international sign for _please stay calm because what I’m about to reveal is going to send you straight to eleven on your rage gauge_ , inadvertently waving the red Speedos at John as if he were a bull.

Suddenly John felt a bit not good.

Another child ran past, screaming at full volume. A moment later it was as if a flood gate opened and mothers and children and yelling staff came pelting through the exit as if there were a herd of beasts bringing up the rear. “Please try to keep your children calm!” The staff were barely audible above the din. “It’s only a few frogs! We’ll have them rounded up and caught in no time. There’s no need to leave!”

John swivelled.  
Sherlock gulped.  
John lowered his head.  
Sherlock lowered the red Speedos.

“Uh now John, I can explain… “

“Run, Sherlock.”

”What?!”

“I’m giving you a five second head start. Now RUN!”

Sherlock was still running when he decided he’d need lots of hot water, bi-carbonate of soda, a rasp and a nail file to avoid the next lesson.


End file.
